


Tales of Us

by whokilledcodyosmond



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Beginnings, College Student Stiles, Crimes & Criminals, Diners, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Female Derek Hale, Female Stiles Stilinski, Forbidden Love, Friends to Lovers, Genderbending, Germany, Guilt, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Love Confessions, M/M, OCs but not really, Partying, Physical Abuse, Pre-Colonial Times, Restaurants, Rich Derek, Stalker Derek Hale, Stalking, Teacher Derek, Teacher-Student Relationship, Terminal Illnesses, Unhealthy Relationships, Voyeurism, Werewolves, all the aus, alternate versions of stiles & derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 20:13:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2038569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whokilledcodyosmond/pseuds/whokilledcodyosmond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Across different lives, through space and time, they find each other one way or another.</p><p>A Cloud Atlas inspired Sterek work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tales of Us

**Author's Note:**

> Took a break from other endeavors to write this idea out. Though the names change from story to story, I hope I did this justice enough that Stiles and Derek's character weren't completely assassinated- hopefully they shine through 'Dale' and 'Stuart' for instance. It was a lot of fun putting little nods to the show, and Stiles and Derek themselves do pop up, don't worry. Let me know what you think. :) enjoy.
> 
> [inspired by the book 'Cloud Atlas' by David Mitchell and the album 'Tales of Us' by Goldfrapp, both fantastic pieces of art]

on nights like this. There weren't many volunteers for the graveyard shift, and once confronted with the dead of night, not a soul to be seen, Dale understood why. The first few hours were surprisingly bearable- things were messy and disorganized from the daytime rush and the mostly monotonous tasks of cleaning and refilling were good opportunities to let his mind switch to auto-pilot.

Looking around the now spotless diner, the boredom began to creep in and he regretted taking the shift from Jo. It was only just after one in the morning and his shift wouldn't end for another five hours or so. He yawned, the first of many to come, brows furrowing at the clock. An hour outside the city, the diner was pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Dirt, rock, and more dirt comprised the surrounding landscape. Apparently they got a lot of truckers and the like passing through but Dale was damned if he had ever seen one during the late night shifts he always seemed to get stuck with.

He was just questioning how badly he needed the job when the small bell affixed to the door jingled merrily, its sound out of place in the nearly empty building- this late, Dale was host, waiter, and cook all in one. 'Judge, jury, executioner' as his manager liked to joke, unaffected by the grimace on Dale's face that attempted to be a tolerating smile.

The customer in question looked around the diner, shoulders hunching slightly as he slid-no, sagged into a booth near the door. He wore a heavy black sweater, peppered with the rain that beginning to splatter the windows. Dale watched him shiver for a moment, eyebrow raised but already putting a fresh pot of coffee on. Grabbing a paper pad (still blank), he approached the first and possibly only customer of the night.

"What can I get you?"

Apparently Dale had scared the living shit out of the guy. He cringed as the customer flinched violently, eyes wide and warily taking him in before reddened eyes framed by pale skin began to scan the menu.

Dale suspected he wasn't actually reading the words on the paper in front of him.

"I've got a fresh pot on if you wanted coffee ...?"

"That's- that's fine, thanks."

He almost didn't hear the words but nodded and slowly backed off to the relative safety behind the counter where the steaming kettle awaited him.

At this point he was already constructing elaborate scenarios, a pastime he blamed on the monotony of the evening: a run away, already three cities away from a family that 'didn't understand him', a junkie headed steadily towards a lonely, dusty death, a vampire with conflicted morals struggling not to feed on his blood. He snorted to himself as he poured a mug full of brown liquid masquerading as coffee. It was cheap and watery, but hey, caffeine.

He tried to be a little extra noisy on his way back to the booth, setting the mug down carefully in front of the guy who stared out the window into the rain.

"T-thank you." Again, the small voice stuttered nervously, long fingers curling around the coffee and pulling it closer as if seeking warmth.

Dale nodded, uneasy though he couldn't say why exactly. "If you need anything else, just let me know." He shrugged at the otherwise empty business. "We're pretty busy though so you might not see me again."

The guy snorted softly, a smirk ghosting the edges of his lips for a split second. Dale walked back behind the counter, feeling oddly pleased someone enjoyed his deadpan attempt at humor.

Of course, there were only so many times he could rearrange condiment bottles and wipe the same spotless counter. He didn't mean to start studying his lone customer- he really didn't, but there was simply nothing else of interest in the building.

Dale's eyes ghosted over the statue-like boy who continued to gaze outside, lips open slightly as if deep in thought. He counted moles, stark against white skin made to look unhealthy by the unflattering lights in the diner. He watched the twitches of long fingers, small crackles of nervous energy, and then the phone rang: the manager checking in to make sure he was still alive.

When he came back to the counter, an empty table awaited him only occupied by a cold cup of coffee and a couple bills. The diner was silent besides the beating of the rain on the windows.

Dale was oddly disappointed.

 

 

A week or so later, he found himself again working the dreaded night shift, but this time he had come prepared with a book of crosswords he picked up at the drug store. He showed up around eleven, nodding a greeting to the other staff members leaving in a hurry upon his arrival.

The boy from the other night was seated in the same corner near the door, hands resting on the table in front of him in tight fists. Dale could see his entire body was just as tense, as though he were ready to burst out of the booth and flee at a moment's notice.

Humming lowly to himself, Dale walked back to the staff room to grab his apron. He supposed it wasn't bad as uniforms went. Dark blue material with a tiny gold star, and he could wear whatever he wanted underneath so it wasn't a bad deal.

"Hey, you won the late night lottery again?"

Dale rolled his eyes, giving a halfhearted wave to Jo. His coworker grabbed her coat off the back of a chair, returned a wave of her own, and was gone seconds later. The loneliness had begun.

Except for...

"Hey, did anyone actually wait on you before I got here?" Dale spoke dryly, not acknowledging how his sudden question made the guy in the booth nearly jump out of his skin. Large brown eyes glanced up briefly to make contact with his own before resting fixedly back on the table surface.

"Just a ...a coffee. Please," he stammered out. "Thank you."

Dale tried for a friendly smile that probably didn't reassure anyone but he decided he got points for the attempt nonetheless. "Coming right up."

 

 

After the delivery to his single customer, it got dark fast and even the traffic coming from passing truckers slowed down to nothing. Armed with his crossword, Dale sat behind the counter staring at the clues and trying to make sense of them. Every now and then he stole a look at the occupied booth, noting that once again the coffee sat untouched.

Dale cleared his throat. "Hey," The boy looked up and Dale would've sworn he somehow shrunk into himself. "How's the coffee?"

Understanding quickly followed the confusion etched across his features, and he gave Dale a weak shrug. "It's fine." He picked it up as if to drink but aborted the movement halfway, gently placing it back on the table and sliding it a little from where it was. His fingers were shaking.

Dale nodded, looking back down at his crossword but not actually reading the words. He was starting to give more thought to his run away theory- maybe he was homeless, ran out of money? He couldn't imagine anyone coming so far out of their way just to sit in a (let's be honest) two-star diner, alone and with an apparent refusal to touch food or drink.

He let out a small sigh, drumming his pen against the counter and peering down at the clues offered. Twelve, across- "Half-Man, Half-Wolf Monster". Dale snorted, faltering when he realized 'werewolf' wasn't going to fit in the squares allotted. "Huh."

"..Lycanthrope."

As quiet as the boy's voice was, it still made Dale jump a little. "Sorry?"

The boy gnawed at his own lip in a nervous gesture, looking surprised and almost guilty at his own speech. He nodded towards where Dale sat at the counter. "Your crossword."

Dale blinked, nodding slowly as he realized he must have muttered his last few thoughts aloud. "..Thanks," he answered as he scribbled in the correct word, pleased as it neatly fit in. "I'm not very good at these. Not smart enough, I guess."

The boy gave a half-smile that made something twitch in Dale's sternum.

Dale raised an eyebrow, straightening the paper out in an over-dramatic motion as he read. "'Light As A Signal, Warning, or Guide'. Six letters."

"Beacon," the boy replied after a slight hesitation, watching as Dale filled in the word he had provided.

"'Game Played With A Basket-Ended Stick'. Eight letters, second one is an 'A'."

The boy thought a moment. "Lacrosse."

"You've done this one already," Dale shook his head as once again the letters aligned.

"Nah," a shy smile peeked out like a tentative sunrise. "They tend to repeat the same clues a lot."

Why, Dale couldn't have said exactly, but the mundane conversation, the small twitch of his lips made him feel warm all over- like sinking into a bath at the end of a long day.

"Hey," he began awkwardly, forcing himself to continue as the seconds began to tick by with large brown eyes watching him. "I'm going to throw a burger on, you want one?"

The boy seemed to physically wilt. "I..no, I mean thank you, I just don't- I don't have much-"

"On the house," Dale declared with a smile and wave as he threw on a ratty apron. "For the crossword help." He dashed behind the counter and got to work before the boy could protest further. Burger flipping and working the deep fryers may not have been his first choice, but Dale could accept it as the scents of sizzling meat rose up into the air making him realize his own hunger.

Soon enough he sat two plates down in the booth, hoping he wasn't being too forward. The boy blinked at the food set in front of him and Dale expected more quiet resistance but he was surprised as his customer dug in like he was famished.

They sat there in relative silence until the boy spoke.

"Stuart."

Dale paused. "Sorry?"

The boy gave him another half smile. "Stuart. My name?"

"Oh. Oh! Yeah. Dale." He felt his ears start to grow warm with a blush.

Stuart nodded slowly. "Yeah, I know."

"How'd you know that?"

"Your name tag?" Stuart raised an eyebrow, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Dale swallowed, feeling the red skin spread across the back of his neck. "Right."

 

 

As the weeks passed, Stuart's visits increased in frequency and always in the dead of night when Dale was working alone. They spoke more and more and Dale began to learn more about his life. Stuart was a first year college student, taking forensic studies and criminology. His mom didn't approve- mainly because his father, who was a cop, died a few years ago on the job. Stuart didn't say how but Dale could probably make an educated guess.

As for a significant other, it hadn't come up and Dale hadn't gathered the courage to ask. He tried to let things come naturally, hoping if it was meant to be then that would be enough. It was hard for him to sit in that booth on the end and focus on the conversation when all he wanted to do was lean across and kiss the lips that smiled more and more for him.

"Hey, did you hear what I said?"

Dale blinked. "What's that?"

Stuart shook his head and smiled. "I was talking about that project I have coming up. Remember?"

"I remember," Dale nodded. "Sorry, I spaced out there a bit."

"I'll say- you were up on Mars there for a second."

A song began to play, sad and lilting violins.

"What is that?"

Stuart stared at his coat, crumpled up in a heap next to him as he answered quietly. "My phone."

Dale's intuition sparked then, sending up a little red flag in his mind. The air seemed to thicken, become stale and harder to breathe. "It's a nice song, sounds kind of familiar." The song played on. "Are you going to answer it?"

Stuart's eyes snapped to Dale's for a second and they were filled with fear. "I- I have to go. I'm sorry."

With that he ran from the booth like the building was on fire, scrambling to open the door, put on his coat, and answer his phone all at the same time.

"Hey wait! Stuart!"

The door swung closed.

"What the hell was that?" Dale muttered to himself as he began to clear the table with a sigh.

 

 

The rest of the night dragged on as usual, nothing and no one but Dale and the steady drone of the fluorescent lights. The one on the very end was slowly driving him insane, flickering every few moments with an angry buzz. Maybe he would leave a passive-aggressive note for the boss to find in the morning: I realize we're not raking in the money here but perhaps we could invest in fixing the lighting at least? -The Only Sucker Willing To Work These Shitty Shifts For You

Dale shook his head, smirking faintly as he resisted the urge. He appraised the diner with tired eyes, going through his mental checklist. Counters clear, cash in the safe, fryers and oven off, sinks cleaned, floors swept, lights off. He whistled to himself as he flipped the sign in the door to 'CLOSED' and made his way back to the staff room, swinging the keys around his finger. The diner would be quiet for an hour now until Jo and the rest of the day crew would fill it up with noise and laughter as they prepped for the almost mythical morning rush.

Putting on his coat, Dale punched out on the time clock and yawned, his hand on the staff room door when he heard the bell jingle out front. He froze, trying to think back to only minutes ago- didn't he flip the lock? His tired brain couldn't quite remember. Maybe someone was starting early and he just wasn't informed? Or maybe someone was attempting an early robbery. He swallowed, grabbing a hefty flashlight hanging next to the door in case of a power outage before slowly opening the door.

The diner was eerie with the lights off. At the other end of the line, the little red lights on the fryers glared at him like a pair of supernatural eyes. He didn't turn the flashlight on, but he could see the outline of someone shuffling around against the windows. He crept closer, willing himself to stay calm as he suddenly spoke in the most booming voice he could muster.

"WHOEVER YOU ARE, I'M ARMED- YOU NEED TO LEAVE RIGHT NOW BEFORE I CALL THE POLICE!"

The silhouette froze but didn't seem in a rush to leave.

Dale counted to three, slowly stepping closer all the while before flicking the flashlight on.

"Stuart? What the hell are you doing here?"

The glare of the sudden light blinded them both a bit but as his eyes adjusted, Dale could see the boy was roughed up. His lip looked split open and the side of his face was freshly swollen- it was definitely going to turn into a nasty bruise. He blinked at the light in his face and one of his eyes was red with blood.

Dale felt his stomach flip unpleasantly.

"I'm- I'm so sorry," Stuart visibly trembled, wringing his hands as if committing a grave faux pas. "I didn't..I didn't know where else to go."

"What happened to you?" He demanded in a harsher tone than he meant to, moving closer and adjusting the beam of light so it wasn't in Stuart's face. He knew he probably should have just called the police immediately and let them deal with..whatever this was, but for some reason it just didn't feel like an option. When the boy didn't answer he shook his head, motioning for him to come with him. "You don't have to tell me right now. Come on, there's a first aid kit out back."

Stuart didn't move.

"You can trust me, I promise," Dale sighed. "You must at least a little if you came here in the first place. Come on, we need to clean those cuts up so they don't get infected." He waited a moment until he could hear the hesitant steps on the tiled floor following him to the staff room. He motioned to a ratty folding chair, flicking on the light and busying himself locating the small first aid kit that never seemed to be in the same place where it could easily be found.

"Sorry."

Dale almost didn't hear it but he looked over his shoulder quizzically. "For what?"

Stuart looked down at the floor as if holding a conversation with it. "I didn't want to drag anyone else into..this."

Dale chose not to reply for now, stepping out briefly with a murmured word and returning minutes later with a steaming mug. He set it down next to Stuart, ignoring how he flinched at Dale's close proximity. "Chamomile okay? It'll calm you down a little." He cracked open the plastic first aid box, dragging another chair closer. He raised an eyebrow, antiseptic in hand. "I'm going to clean those cuts out first, is that okay?"

Stuart looked at the alcohol swab and back to Dale with wide, frightened animal eyes but nodded slowly, seemingly holding his breath.

"This is going to sting a little bit." He tried to be as gentle as he could, making low, soothing noises as the white pad slowly turned pink with blood. On closer inspection, there were dozens of small cuts all over Stuart's skin. "How did you get so many of these?" He asked not really expecting an answer.

"Coffee table," sounded like the muttered response. "Glass top."

Dale raised an incredulous eyebrow. "You fell through a coffee table? Face first?"

Stuart seemed to squirm. "Not exactly."

Dale hummed, bringing a wipe across the boy's lip where it had split and crusted with blood. He dabbed it away, running his thumb over the wound afterwards without thinking. He withdrew his hand quickly, searching for the ice pack and pretending he didn't notice the eyes watching him with wonder. He paused, up to his wrists in bandages and ointments when Stuart quietly began to speak.

"The first time was because I was out too late with my friends. Mike was waiting up for me and..we started to fight. I got so mad..I told him to go fuck himself and he.." He swallowed down a gulp of tea. "He broke my arm. It was..an accident."

Dale couldn't say anything, stunned by the slow but steady torrent of words- a catalogue of abuse.

"When we went to the emergency room I told them I slipped on our front steps. He was so sorry after that, for a while. For a while everything was perfect and I thought we were back to normal. I started asking permission to spend time with other people and it was always fine..but then he started drinking."

"Stuart," Dale cleared his throat, crunching the ice pack to activate it. "How long has this been happening?"

"Oh," Stuart sipped the tea slowly, voice growing airy and dreamlike. Dale was beginning to think he was in some sort of mild shock. "About three years now, I think. Yeah, that sounds right."

Dale was stunned. "Why..why didn't you leave?" He immediately regretted the question, noting Stuart's trembling hands could barely hold up the mug.

"I..I loved him. Even after all the hospital visits, all the..the scars." Stuart started to sob, thick tears running down his cheeks.

"Shh..shh, it's okay. You're okay now." Dale slowly put a hand on the boy's shoulder, muscling through the cringe under his fingers and moving in slow circles.

"What am I going to do?"

"We're going to call the police and you can tell them exactly what you told me."

"No, no," Stuart shook his head violently. "I can't."

"You can," Dale insisted, giving him a gentle squeeze. "A friend of mine is on the force, I can get him here in twenty minutes if you want me to."

"He's going to hurt me so bad for this," Stuart whispered, trembling like a leaf.

Dale felt his heart break into pieces. "No, no one's going to hurt you." Over his dead body, he thought to himself. "I've got you, you're going to be okay."

Stuart gave him a weak smile, one that barely came into existence but a smile nonetheless.

"I hope so."

Dale took out his cell phone and placed it on the table, followed by his book of crosswords. He grabbed a pen and started reading clues out loud, waiting patiently for his words to get

Heard a shot and someone calling  
Strained in darkness  
Vapor like a veil  
Hangs over the city tonight  
Run, you better run  
You better run for your life

through these series of passages that Stevenson uses allegory to demonstrate the struggle between the primal self and so-called civilized man- monster and man, in this case. He begins to paint a vivid picture of the beast that lurks beneath the facade of humanity."

A boy in the back row of the lecture theatre whispered to his friend.

"Bet you ten euros Helkin is a beast that lurks beneath the bed sheets."

Professor Helkin's gray-green eyes shot to him like a laser, flashing dangerously. "Something you would like to add to this discussion, Herr Strauss?"

"Nein, nein, entschuldigung-"

The older man grunted and waved his hand dismissively. "We speak English in this class, bitte." At a few titters in the crowd he realized his slip, letting out a growl. "Enough! No more interruptions. Now-"

"Yes, Professor. Sorry, Professor." The boy sat back with a smirk that the older man chose to ignore as he continued his lecture.

Professor Helkin was in his mid forties, jet black hair only beginning to show tinges of gray at the roots near his temples. Even though he was one of the 'younger' faculty at the university, he still had a fearsome reputation among most of the students who took his classes. Behind his back they called him Alter Wolf, thinking he was unaware.

His only straight-'A' student present in World Literature was one Sven Strauss, the boy who whispered in the back row nearly every lecture. Honestly, he didn't understand the patience Sven's group of friends had for his antics, but there was his age showing- though he was loathe to admit it.

Half a second after he flicked off the projector the students immediately began to depart for the exits, bags and books slowly put away during the last ten minutes.

"Your essays are due three days from now, remember!" He suppressed a smirk at their collective groans. "And don't forget your final thesis needs to be on my desk two weeks from now if you want to pass this course. If you haven't already, I'd highly suggest getting a start now if you haven't already." He highly doubted anyone had cracked their novels open more than once.

Helkin let out a sigh of relief now that he had the room to himself. He felt like he could breathe again- not that he didn't enjoy his job, but some days having to endure looking into all those blank faces was just too painful. He played with the idea of retiring early, rolled it about in his mind like an old coin- but no, since he divorced Catelyn he was certainly feeling the financial repercussions. Once she found some other fool to suck dry he could look at truly moving on once he was free of her.

Hands slid up his back, rubbing gently at the muscle the man hid under his suit jackets.

"Du bist so hubsch in deinem Anzug." A voice purred behind him. He had no need to turn and identify them but spun around on his heel anyway.

"Are you mad?" He hissed, showing some truth to his nickname. "You can't do that here, not where someone could see."

The boy pouted, crossing his arms. "I'm not an idiot, Professor. I locked the doors before I came down here."

"Not here!" Helkin insisted, trying to resist from pulling the younger man in. "Nicht anfassen!"

"Would you rather I seduced you in English? Hm..how do I say that.." Sven smiled slyly, moving forward and eliminating any personal space either of them had. His mouth widened when the professor was caught between Sven and his desk. He leaned in, craning his neck so he could press soft lips onto a vulnerable earlobe, whispering as he did so. "Oh yeah. I want you to fuck my brains out right here on your desk." He stepped backwards, grinning at the flustered man. "Is that better, Professor?"

"Gah!" Professor Helkin quickly escaped to the other side, making a show of straightening stacks of papers and hoping his slacks weren't too noticeably tented. "I thought I told you that this..this was finished?"

Sven shrugged. "I'd stop if you wanted me to. And I mean, really wanted me to...which you obviously don't."

Helkin grit his teeth- of course Sven had noticed. The boy had a keen, sharp eye and a voracious appetite to match. It was a volatile combination of traits, one that put them both in danger of serious scandal. However much the potential for disaster worried him, it was becoming harder and harder to resist the advances. The boy had filled out nicely in the past few months, becoming lean and hard and..oh he was in trouble. Sven had laughed when he asked dully what 'lacrosse' was, put a hand that burned on his arm and called him 'Alter Wolf' with affection.

"Come on, let me take of care of you, Dieter." Sven all but purred. "It won't take long, I'll make sure of that."

Helkin didn't doubt it. He looked up at the ceiling, darkly muttering all the while until he felt deft fingers make short work of his zipper, a hot mouth suddenly surrounding him. It drew a sigh of pleasure from him and he fisted the boy's hair, unable to help himself yet again.

 

 

It was going to take him all night to grade the stack of papers teetering dangerously on his already over-cluttered desk. He had retired to his office for a long evening of spotting plagiarisms and underlining viciously with a red pen.

He scratched out a particularly terrible sentence, groaning out loud with exasperation. "Terrible, just terrible."

"I hope that's not mine, Professor." Sven knocked softly at the door, letting himself in before Helkin could protest otherwise. He took a seat opposite the older man, swinging his legs up on the desk with a jaunty smile.

The pile of paper quivered.

Helkin grunted. "Yours is the only one worth reading in this entire collection of rubbish."

Sven smirked. "I love getting good grades for..a job well done." His smirk fell away at the glare Helkin shot across the desk. "I was just kidding, Professor, don't wolf out on me."

"I mean it, Sven. You're a good student. I can safely assume half your work isn't copied from the internet and you actually have some original ideas in that head of yours."

"You have no idea."

"Sven."

"You know I love it when you growl my name, Dieter."

"That's Professor to you," Helkin muttered. "No, no-"

Sven slid right into his lap, straddling the man and effectively trapping him in his chair. He dimly wondered how the boy moved so quickly- it was like watching a cat slink about the room. He ripped Helkin's dress shirt wide open, unconcerned at the buttons that rolled away to land on the carpeted floor, making an appreciative noise at the professor's physique and peppering his chest with small kisses.

Ordinarily Helkin would've been happy (maybe not enthusiastic) about his student's late night visits. Maybe it was the hour or the tumblers of gin he had downed earlier to get through the monotony or both, but now the lips that kissed hungrily at his own brought only a fraction of the usual lust. Melancholy was slowly descending on him- he could feel it at the sides of his mind creeping in.

"Sven. Why me?"

The boy grinned playfully. "Have you seen yourself? You're a total..what do they call it? A total 'DILF'- I mean, I know you don't have kids but I think it still applies. It's nice to get fucked by someone who actually knows what he's doing."

Helkin didn't allow himself to think of any other potential lovers. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Sven."

"Mmm," Sven sighed happily, kneading Helkin's shoulders as he nuzzled into the side of his throat. "Was ist?"

"Was machen wir hier?" He felt the boy smile into his neck.

"Whatever you want, Professor. I can ride you right here if you want? Or maybe against the wall again, that was pretty fun-"

"No," Helkin grabbed his arms, forcing him to stay still so he could focus. "That's not what I mean."

Sven huffed a breath, his brown eyes narrowed in irritation. "What?"

Helkin's voice was tired. "Where is this going, this..whatever this is?"

Sven was quiet for a moment, his voice coming slowly as if speaking to a small child. "You mean the sex?"

The older man felt himself begin to mentally squirm now that he had begun opening a figurative can of worms. "I'd like to think..there may be more to this than that. Something other than the..the physical." He waited, holding his breath in anticipation of Sven's reply, the boy's face going blank and revealing nothing but a searching gaze.

Wordlessly, Sven got to his feet as he looked down at Helkin with something terribly close to pity. "I'll see you on Monday, Professor Helkin." He turned without another word and left the office like a ghost, as quickly as he had arrived.

"Sven, wait, please?"

He was already gone. Helkin sighed heavily, trying to close his damaged shirt and knocking his glass to the floor in a sudden snarl of anger and hurt. Drops of liquor had fallen, spreading blue ink into a watery looking blur in spots across the page.

 

 

Helkin barely got through the rest of the weekend, let alone Monday's afternoon lecture. He let his eyes ghost over Sven in the crowd, refusing to let them stop on the face he knew much too intimately- every mole, probably every pore.

"Herr Strauss? Sven? Sven!" He called out as the students departed in a chaotic mass but either he didn't hear him or was just flat out ignoring him completely. He felt a black cloud begin to surround him as he watched him leave.

It was funny, in a grim sort of way, that as he signed the papers granting himself and Catelyn their divorce, he felt nothing but a sense of a weight being lifted. Now, his younger lover- fling, whatever they were, had spurned him and he felt like the world had become a little darker, a little lonelier.

Suddenly there were no more flirty texts, no more secret looks and smiles during classes. No one that seemed to simply thrive off the sexuality they had shared together.

Helkin sighed, grabbing a pen and

Land of the lines, of the years below still lies  
You are the truth they denied  
Run like the sea, tangled there in porcelain  
Under the stars you begin

wondering how he had ever gotten invited to this party.

The music was too loud, the bass making the ground beneath his feet vibrate and drowning out every conversation beyond a small radius around him. As far as the eye could see, the surrounding patio and lawn was filled with people his own age, red cups obscuring whatever their liquor of choice was that evening.

It was so cliche he could cry enough tears to fill the huge fountain that was the centerpiece of the grounds.

Beside him was Skylar, his best friend since third grade, grinning like an idiot.

"Dude! I can't believe this is actually happening. How cool is this?"

"So cool," he drawled, wishing he was still at home. "I always wanted to spend quality time outside of school with the rich kids that ignore our existence."

"Sean, man, you gotta lighten up a little. Try to have a good time and stuff."

Sean rolled his eyes, mentally fortifying himself. "And stuff. Totally."

"That's the spirit!" Skylar grabbed his arm, pulling him inside the house that was more like a castle: huge white walls dotted with terraces and creeping ivy, two huge oak doors that led them to a huge staircase and an entryway stuffed with even more people. A huge platter of party favors- tiny shot glasses shaped like wine glasses flanked them.

"There has to be more than our school here, there's no way they're all from the Hills."

"What?" Skylar yelled in his ear, the volume of the throbbing music further intensifying.

"Nothing!" He yelled back, feeling silly.

Skylar nodded, bobbing his head to the beat as he leaned in again. "I'm going to get a drink, you want one?"

"Sure, why not." He nodded, suddenly feeling even more out of his element on his own. The people dancing and talking around him pay him no attention except the familiar once-over and subsequent dismissal. He couldn't even say he was offended- he doubted there was anything he had in common with them anyway. 

He groaned under his breath, seeing Skylar grinning and chatting up a girl near the bar on the other side of the room. This was just like him- he was like a bird getting distracted by a shiny object. He was debating on leaving him high and dry when he caught sight of someone watching him.

At the top of the stairs, there was a girl staring at him. Her eyes were brilliant, piercing and he felt like they were looking right through him. She was pretty in the strangest way- he couldn't really describe it accurately. She had a bob of jet black hair, very little makeup from what he could tell.

He felt himself going a little red in the face, feeling embarrassed for some reason.

She turned on her heel, black dress spinning around her as she headed further up the staircase onto the second floor, suddenly out of view.

Sean stood there for a minute before he started up after her. Later on, he'd reflect how he felt..drawn to follow her though he'd never seen her before in his life.

Down the hall he almost knocked a vase over, bumping into a table. He would've bet it was worth more than his entire room and breathed a sigh of relief once he caught it.

"Nice save."

He spun around, the girl right behind him and still staring with her unnerving eyes. "Oh! Uh..yeah, I guess. Didn't see you there."

She gave him a smirk. "You're not enjoying the party?"

He laughed a little nervously. "Not really."

The girl hummed thoughtfully and he took it for a sound of agreement.

"It's like.." He tried to articulate his thoughts. "They're all so..snobby and self-absorbed and..plastic. Like nothing matters except their trust funds and what they drive. I think I saw one of them almost drown looking at his reflection in the fountain."

The girl let out a quiet huff of laughter, raising her hand to her mouth as if surprised it came from her.

Sean grinned, feeling a curious sort of immediate kinship. "And trying to have a conversation with them? I'd rather eat one of those ridiculous party favors."

"I'd rather have a lobotomy." She offered.

"Stick a fork in an electrical outlet."

"Drink bleach."

Both of them started laughing at the same time, his loud and probably obnoxious, hers quiet and reserved but no less amused. He gave a wide smile, offering his hand. "Sean."

She opened her mouth to speak but someone beat her to it.

"Oh my god, Drew?"

Behind them, two very drunk girls clung to each other. Sean was amazed they had successfully navigated the stairs. One seemed to be a little more out it, giggling under her breath and staring at her feet as if they were incredibly entertaining. The other seemed very happy to see 'Drew', the mystery girl he had been tearing the rich kids up with.

Drew greeted them with a smile that held no warmth, her voice stiff and wooden. "Tiffany. Sarah."

"Oh my god, Drew. This is like, the best party you've ever thrown, I swear."

"Thank you."

Tiffany, the more alert one, threw her head back and laughed as if she'd heard the funniest thing. "You crack me up, Drew, seriously. I just wanted to tell you..Keith Arren was asking about you- I think he's interested, you know?"

Drew folded her arms across her chest. "That's nice."

Tiffany paused, unsure of how to take the response and clearly thrown off. "Right? Anyway, I hate to be needy, but do you have any more of those orange shooters left? You know what I mean, right?"

"Go kill yourself."

Sean gaped, unsure what he had heard and Tiffany apparently echoed his sentiments, cocking her head and squinting a little.

"What?"

Drew smiled icily. "I said it's under the bar, go help yourself."

"Oh," Tiffany nodded, vacant smile returned. "Thanks, Drew. You're the best."

They watched her and the barely conscious Sarah make their way back downstairs to the party.

Drew turned with a raised eyebrow and Sean felt his stomach drop.

"So..this is your party. Your house."

She shrugged. "That's right."

"And," he swallowed. "Probably your friends I just finished trashing?"

"I wouldn't say that." Drew smiled slyly before nodding towards one of the rooms.

"Is it okay we're up here?"

Drew waited.

"Oh, right, your house. Sorry."

 

 

They were in what had to be Drew's bedroom, curiously spartan and lacking much decoration he would've expected from a girl his age. He sat on the bed with her, both of them sharing a flask of something that burned his throat but he drank without complaint, enjoying her company and sparse conversation before he spoke up.

"So, I'm confused."

Drew raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Does that happen often?"

He grinned. "Tonight? Definitely. But I was wondering..why throw a party if..you know-"

"You despise all the guests?" Drew finished his question dryly.

"Uh- yeah, exactly."

Drew looked down at her lap for a minute. "I don't know. I always think it would be nice to fill the house with people- until they're here, I remember it's even more lonely somehow."

Sean felt like he had stumbled into a suddenly darker conversation. "What about your family? Do your parents know about this?"

A flash of anger came into her eyes and he immediately regretted asking.

"Hey, I'm sorry- I don't mean to pry or anything. It's none of my business."

Drew shrugged. "It's okay. They're in Tahiti on 'business'," she did air quotes with her fingers. "They're never home."

"Oh," he nodded awkwardly. "I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing, it's fine." She sighed, standing up and watching the party goers from the window. "They can die in a fire for all I care."

He wasn't sure if the morbid sentiment was meant for the people downstairs or her parents or both, but he stood with her, putting an arm tentatively around her. When she didn't pull away or give him a scathing look he moved a little closer, leaning against her.

She sighed quietly.

"What's wrong?"

Drew shook her head and gave him a lopsided smile. "Everything- but..thanks for coming to my party."

He grinned, purposely slurring his words a little. "Anytime. Hey, you got any of those orange shooters left or what?"

She punched him in the arm and they both started laughing, watching the people

Pull up the blinds  
Open the door and wide  
Feel the cold arrive in my bones  
You, me, and the moon  
We burn and crash in dirty snow

coming and going. The room is still painfully white, even after the bright red flowers Darren had brought her. Sidney had complained her room felt cold and sterile, been delighted when she had awoken to the large plant that barely fit on the small desk in the corner. She smiled at him, tubes fed into her nose to help her breathe, her hand turned up at her side. He watched a finger curl slowly and he pulled the chair closer to the bed so he could sit with her, hold her hand.

"Hey, big guy." Sidney yawned.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, trying not to speak too softly. She didn't like it- said it made her feel like she was in a funeral parlor.

"Sleepy," Sidney's voice made his chest hurt, it sounded so small. It made him miss the way she used to talk a mile a minute, her whole body animated and overflowing with life. "They had to up my dose a little- I've been in and out of it all day." Even the short sentence seemed to exhaust her but she continued anyway. "Were you talking to Dad today?"

Darren nodded. "He's going to come by tomorrow. A few tourists got attacked by a wild animal- a mountain lion or something. I guess he's swamped with the paperwork."

"Huh," Sidney breathed out. "I didn't think there were mountain lions around here."

"It is odd," Darren agreed before changing the subject. "Did you have that talk with the doctor?"

"Sort of."

"Well..what did he say?"

Sidney turned away for a moment. "You know, same old doctor speak. Some counts are low, some other cell counts are high, etcetera."

Darren rubbed at his face, trying not to let his exasperation show. He didn't want to upset her. "We talked about this."

"I know."

He squeezed her hand. "We're going to the lake this summer, remember? We'll take the train out of town, it goes right into the mountains. You're going to love it, it's-"

"I don't want to go through with the treatment." The words came like a sharp wind. Sidney looked surprised they came from between her lips, looking at him, waiting for him to say something. Her mouth was pale, shaped in a small 'o'.

"Why?" The question felt like ash on his tongue. He knew she was crying, could see the tears start to glisten on her cheeks but he felt like all the air had left him. He felt hollow. Empty.

"I can't do this anymore," she whispered, squeezing his fingers as hard as she could. "I'm..I'm not going to get better. I'm just not. Doing all these tests and regimens and therapies..it's just dragging it out-"

He could barely hear the words.

"-I don't want to waste away like.." Like her mom, he knew what she was going to say even though she couldn't finish the sentence. The words were leaving her, her chest rising and falling with the exertion.

"No."

"Darren.."

"No. You.." He struggled to rein in the emotions turbulent in his heart. All he wanted to do was shake her, scream until she understood what she was doing. "You don't get to give up." He waited for her to say something, but she just looked at him until he dropped his gaze, unable to take the profound misery in her eyes. "You can't give up on me."

A fresh sob undulated through her. "Darren, I can't do this anymore. I can't, you don't understand..what.." She couldn't catch her breath, her heart rate rising and the monitor hanging next to the bed began to sound an alarm.

One of the nurses came in and began to usher him out, speaking in a low voice.

"She'll be fine, she just needs some rest now. We'll call you if anything changes."

He nodded and left, hating himself.

 

 

The weeks inched on, and his self hatred only grew.

He came to visit every day. Some days they would talk quietly, never about the future, only memories of the past. Sometimes she grew angry with him, refusing to say anything at all. He didn't mind sitting there as long as she let him hold her hand.

He watched her growing weaker and felt like he was dying right along with her.

 

 

"Hey you!"

Darren was stunned at the abrupt change in her. Sidney was sitting up in her bed, eyes twinkling and looking more..alive than she had in a long time.

"I feel..really good," her grin only faltered when she brushed back some of her hair, dismayed at the thinning strands under her fingers. "Like I could climb a mountain, no problem!"

Darren smiled and held up a small bag. "I'm glad. I brought you something."

"You..brought me curly fries?" Sidney immediately stuffed a handful in her mouth, all but moaning around them. "You have no idea how amazing these are after months of hospital food, ugh I knew I loved you for reasons."

"Reasons better than curly fries, I hope."

Sidney laughed. "Sure, sure. Do I get dessert too?"

"Ah, no dessert." Darren rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

"Bad boyfriend, bad," she scolded as she licked her fingers. "I'll settle for a kiss though."

Darren leaned forward. "That I can do."

 

 

They played board games on her bed, watched 'An American Werewolf in London' ("It's so bad it's good," Sidney insisted), Darren read to her everything from Harry Potter to Sylvia Plath's poetry. On one of her better days, he helped her into a wheelchair and they went for a walk around the hospital after he insisted she give him a tour.

"This wing has the neurology labs and the urology clinic next to that."

"Thrilling stuff," he deadpanned over her shoulder.

"Oh yeah," Sidney nodded with a smirk. "Peeing in little bottles sure is a scream."

Darren huffed a laugh into his shirt when one of the passing nurses scowled at the noise but Sidney was on a roll now.

"You know, it actually gets weird to use a toilet after you've done like a dozen of those things in a row."

"Stop, stop," Darren wheezed and they retreated quickly when they couldn't hold in their laughing any longer.

 

 

Her laughter made his very being sing.

Sidney blew into the train compartment like a hurricane, examining every detail, talking excitedly all the while. Dark, handsome wood shone under her fingertips. The windows reflected her sun dress dotted with blue flowers, thick brown hair swaying with each turn of her head.

Darren just watched her with love, stowing their suitcases away as he listened to her itinerary of summer activities.

"We'll hike up to the tea house, right? Have a picnic next to the lake, go swimming- oh we can make dinner some nights instead of eating at the hotel, that would be fun, I feel like you've got a hidden flair in the kitchen." She teased him, delighted when she got a smile out of him.

They sat together in their compartment, fingers laced together, her head resting on his shoulder. The countryside sped by, vineyards and farm land rolling over the curves of the horizon. Ahead, the mountains loomed into view and she let out a happy sigh. This was exactly where she wanted to be.

"I love you."

Her heart skipped a beat. It wasn't often he said the words aloud.

"I love you too," she smiled, hitting him playfully. "You don't have to sound so sad about it."

 

 

"I love you, I love you," Darren whispered the words, squeezing her hand too hard but she just laid there and breathed in and out with the help of machines. "Can..can she hear me?"

The nurse looked at him with pity but spoke softly, kindly. "I'm sure she can, dear. Stay as long as you like. I'll let the other nurses know you're still here."

He nodded his thanks as she left the room, ignoring the gnawing in his stomach. Hungry as he was the thought of food made him nauseous. Going downstairs to the cafeteria would mean leaving her side. Her dad would be bringing back supper from home later on for the both of them anyway.

Neither of them realized the upswing in her health wouldn't last. Sidney was a flower that had bloomed overnight and now was fast approaching the winter.

He counted the colored tiles, counted the fallen petals on the table that had faded from red to brown. Just before the coma, Sidney refused when a nurse gently suggested her flowers were old and wouldn't she like to get fresh ones to replace them? He had barely stifled a laugh when she had quipped 'you're a pretty old nurse, maybe they should get a fresher one', a small firework of sass lending a mischievous twinkle to her eyes.

Now her eyes were closed and he could no longer hear

Sailors sail on, all night, all day  
I'm not lost, I'm wandering your way  
I know you're waiting  
Carry me there

the sounds of wood being chopped, over and over in a steady rhythm. Simon grinned, peeking out behind the corner of the house. He could see Daniel placing the logs on the giant stump, raising his ax with an easy strength and swinging it down. The days of the summer were slowly growing shorter but the heat was still fierce. His eyes lingered on the muscled back he could easily see through the sweat-stained shirt. Some day, some day he would tell Daniel of the feelings present in his heart- maybe this night if his plans came to pass.

"Simon Stills, what on earth are you doing lurking underneath my window? I've no pie for you to make off with today, young man!" Mrs. Tanner scowled at him from above, her glasses perched dangerously at the end of her nose and her voice grating in his ears.

"I'm awfully sorry, Mrs. Tanner," Simon clasped his hands behind his back in a show of mock respect. "I only came to call on Daniel. Has he almost finished his work for the day?"

Mrs. Tanner sniffed, unconvinced at the show. "He has- but I'll not have you around distracting him, so be off with you now."

"I would never, Miss!" Simon waved goodbye and walked back the way he had come until Mrs. Tanner wouldn't be able to see him anymore. He doubled back at the well, counting under his breath and creeping back when he was sure the old lady was elsewhere in her home.

Steady came the sounds of splitting wood and Simon was beginning to wonder if Mrs. Tanner was making Daniel stock up enough wood for the whole winter in one day. He decided another private peek would in be order before he made his presence known but as he slowly peered around the corner he came face to face with Daniel's stony gaze, green eyes burning into his own.

Simon fell back to the ground, long grass running through his fingers as he made a sound of surprise. Daniel only watched him, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth and Simon felt himself blushing. "You nearly startled me to death, Daniel!"

"Yes, I clearly must try harder." Daniel rolled his eyes, returning to the stump with his ax and Simon trailing behind.

"Edward says the harvest will be poor this year." Simon piped out, wincing at the useless small talk his mouth decided to blurt out. He was well aware his friend had no love for the farmer.

Daniel snorted with derision. "Edward says many things simply to sow worry in others' thoughts. Pay him no heed."

The younger boy nodded distractedly, playing with a tall sprig of grass that tickled his dangling fingers. "I suppose. Daniel?"

A grunt of acknowledgment.

"Do you think you will always want to live here? In the village, I mean."

"An odd question." Simon could see his friend's brows furrow as he mulled it over. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh, I was just thinking- hey!" He laughed at Daniel's incredulous look as if Simon having thoughts bouncing around in his head was a ridiculous notion. "I was just thinking, would it not be so bad to see the rest of the world some day? To see the great forests of the north, or cross the ocean to some exotic land?" He sighed happily imagining the adventures they could share. Together, of course.

"I suppose it would be interesting," Daniel answered slowly, setting another log to be split. "But this is my home. This will always be my home..even now."

Simon looked away, almost ashamed at the quiet statement. When Daniel was very small and Simon was but a baby, there was a fire. A house gone up in flames, and Daniel the only survivor out of his entire clan. He lived in a hut built next to the blackened ground where the house had once stood, the old family barn still standing in the background like a grim reminder of what was.

"I..I am sorry, Daniel. That was careless of me."

The older boy shrugged. "No apology is needed. Forgive me for my maudlin thoughts."

Simon smiled. "Do not be foolish. Are you almost done though? We were supposed to go to the cliffs, remember? Father Crawford said the moon was going to be something special tonight."

Daniel paused for the briefest of moments, the ax gripped tightly in his hands. "I cannot. Not tonight. Besides, when do you ever listen to what 'that old geezer' has to say?"

Simon struggled to articulate his reasons without giving himself away. Daniel always had an uncanny ability to tell when he was hiding something and this was his most important secret. He had managed to hide his feelings for two years now, waiting for a good time to be honest with his affections. He knew what he felt wouldn't be understood by the others in the village. He settled for saying nothing for now, letting his own disappointment be shown by the uncharacteristic quiet.

Daniel sighed heavily. "It is just the moon- it will be around for the next night, and the night after that."

Simon tried to bite down the unexpected hurt. He had been talking about this evening for a month now since the old priest had mentioned the special astrological event. "It is not just any moon, it is a blue moon! It is going to be amazing and once in a lifetime and you are going to miss it!"

"Simon."

The boy was adamant. "You said you would go with me."

"I.." Daniel began to look uncomfortable, avoiding the brown eyes that searched for his own. "I cannot do this. I am sorry."

"Why not?"

"Simon-"

"Explain this to me!"

"Why is this such an ordeal for you?" Daniel demanded back to him, causing Simon to blush but refuse to look away.

"Why is it such an ordeal for you?"

Daniel growled like an animal. "This is foolish."

"Agreed. I am sure you have much more important business to attend besides myself, your only friend." Simon huffed and strode quickly away towards the forest ignoring both the irritated calls of his friend and the guilt for his cruel parting words. The dying sun shone its last rays throughout the trees, painting them golden oranges and greens.

 

 

Hours later, the last light of the day had all but vanished and was a mere glow in the distance. Simon found himself surrounded by tall spruce trees, thick foliage cloaking him from the sky. In scattered patches, he could look up and see the darkening blue reminding him how the decision to run off wasn't the brightest idea he'd had. He was sure Daniel had half the village looking for him by now, the Stills boy getting himself into trouble yet again.

"Foolish indeed," he muttered angrily to himself, kicking a stray branch out of his way. He had been wandering for hours. "How embarrassing."

The forest seemed to come alive with the onset of the night, crickets began to chirp their songs and he could hear an owl in the distance, a forlorn sound that echoed around him. All the nocturnal creatures were awakening from their sleep as the air began to slowly cool down.

Simon was trying to divine his previous path when he froze at a new sound in the night.

A howl.

Villagers often told tales late at night in the pub, Simon crouched under windows and ear to doorways eavesdropping when he should have been fast asleep in the late hours. Tales of beasts no man lived to describe (even as a child he questioned how that could be if they knew enough to tell their stories), fierce monsters that roamed freely once the moon appeared in the skies. Monsters that had a taste for disobedient children such as himself.

Prickles of fear began their descent down the small of his back as he quickened his pace, hoping he was moving in the right direction. He cursed the thick trees, the darkness, and Daniel for incensing him enough to be so stupid.

Another howl came from somewhere behind him, sounding much closer than its predecessor.

In the distance, Simon began to see the dim flickering of the village torches and he let out a breath of relief. In his haste, he tripped over a particularly gnarled root he swore wasn't there a moment ago. It was as if the forest itself was mocking his fear- he was so close and so far.

Climbing to his feet, he found himself face to face with..he wasn't exactly sure. The shadows seemed to swallow the edges of the creature's shape, making it appear even more massive than Simon knew it was. Two red eyes burned into his own, the creature's heavy breathing drowned out the other forest sounds. For what seemed like an endless stretch of time, it simply stared before rising up on its hind legs like a man. It towered over him and Simon shut his eyes tightly, holding his breath and making his peace with God.

He could feel it crouch over him, close enough to feel the hot breath against his face and then it was gone. He cracked open an eye and sure enough, the beast had departed back into the darkened recesses of the forest. It looked like he would live another day after all, though he couldn't begin to guess why.

 

 

Simon knocked at the door to the small house- no, calling it a house was too kind. It was more of a hut. The hut where Daniel lived was at the very edge of the village, next to the forest where Simon had spent much more time than he would have liked. He had been bludgeoning the door repeatedly but there was no answer from within and his hand was beginning to ache. It had been a month since their argument and Daniel had been acting strangely ever since. Now he was ignoring Simon altogether.

If Daniel was lurking in the barn he surely would have heard the racket. Simon was just sizing up the door and debating on breaking it down when a voice startled him out of his thoughts.

"'Lo, Simon."

Simon smiled weakly, waving at William Parson, one of the village militia. "Hi, Will. How are you this day?"

Parson returned the smile, amusement in his eyes. "I am well, Simon, though wondering why you feel a siege on Daniel's front door is needed."

"Oh, well..." He struggled to come up with a good reason, flustered by the militia man's handsome features. He was no Daniel, not in Simon's eyes, but he would be lying if he said he never fantasized of what it would be like to share his bed.

"Daniel is not home, in case that changes your mind."

Simon blinked. "Oh! Well then...hmm..."

Parson gave a hearty laugh and shook his head. "Last I saw, he was visiting the apothecary."

"The apothecary?" Simon frowned, murmuring to himself more than to Parson. "That is interesting." He felt redness creep into his cheeks realizing the man was still watching him. "Thank you, Will."

Parson nodded, still smiling to himself as he continued on his rounds at the borders of the forest.

 

 

"Daniel? Why, yes he was here not moments ago. You just missed him."

Simon sighed. "Of course. Thank you." He was on his way out when he stopped and turned back to the old herbalist with curiosity. "May I ask what he bought from you?"

The old man shook his head. "Many of my customers prefer their purchases remain of a subtle nature, you understand."

"Please," Simon insisted, a small coil of worry beginning to curl in his stomach though he couldn't have said why exactly. "I believe it is important."

Something in his voice must have found a sympathetic ear for the old man studied him only a few seconds before he relented. "Very well. A most curious mixture of reagents. Let me see here.." He moved around various jars on the shelves behind him, glass clinking against glass gently. "It was...yes, powder made from a fallen mountain ash tree and... aconitum."

At Simon's confused expression the herbalist elaborated.

"Better known as wolfsbane."

The bad feeling in Simon's core began to grow.

 

 

A series of questions around the village did nothing to assuage his worry. The smith said Daniel had just purchased a series of chains for "new farming equipment". Simon didn't bother to stop and tell him that Daniel didn't own any farmland. Strange herbs and chains? Was Daniel attempting to hunt the beast that Simon now knew for sure roamed the village outskirts? If anyone else knew of its existence, it would be Daniel who more or less shared a backyard with the beast.

All he knew for certain was that his friend, his first love was in some sort of trouble and night was almost upon them. With dread he saw the full moon slowly rising into view and knew his time was running out. If Daniel made it out into the forest before he could stop him, he would never be able to go in and find him before the monster did.

"Simon!"

For the second time, Parson crossed his path. Simon nodded in his direction, meaning to hurry by to his destination but the guardsman stopped him.

"Simon, there has been an alarm raised for this night- everyone is to be in their homes immediately. Some of the villagers have heard howls and strange noises coming from the woods. The village council believes there is a wild animal about."

"Of course, Will. I was making my way home, as you say."

Parson crossed his arms, not fooled by the lie. "You live on the other side of the village, Simon. Go, your father will be worrying for you."

Simon grit his teeth. "Will, please, I need to- that is, this is something very important. It will only be a moment, I promise. Please let me by?"

The militia man didn't look happy but nodded anyway. "Go ahead, and do what you must with haste." He looked out into the darkening forest. "It will not be safe if the council is right."

"Thank you! I will repay you, William Parson!"

Parson smirked at the boy and shook his head.

 

 

"Daniel!" Simon hissed through the door, trying not to knock too loudly. "If you are in there and listening, I know what you are up to!" He quieted, listening to see if his bluff got any response but all was silent within.

It was dark now, the full moon shining like a beacon above him, brilliant and white.

Simon kicked the door in frustration, wincing at the loud bang as it rattled in its frame. He gnawed at his own lips, worrying he was too late to stop his friend when he noticed something shining in the moonlight mere paces from the front door.

A patch of grass was squashed down into the ground as if someone had sat down for a moment. Or fallen. Simon felt sick as he ran a blade through his fingers and his skin came away red and slick. The grass was peppered with droplets of blood.

A quick look around told him it wasn't an isolated incident- there was an indeed a trail and it led a very clear path.

A trail of blood led him around Daniel's hut and to the barn. He knew Daniel loathed the old building but refused to tear it down, it being one of the last vestiges of his dead kin. At the large sliding door, a larger splash of blood colored the handle and dripped down to the ground below.

Simon took a deep breath and gingerly edged the door open. Though it was old, it slid quite easily in its track. The inside was pitch black- only the entrance was lit by the moon, pale hay littered at his feet, and the first few stalls where an animal might be tethered were empty. From where he was, he could see a hatch for a skylight and a hooked pole one would use to open it. Scared as he was, Simon was committed to a thorough search though he feared what he might find in the dark.

Under his feet, an unnoticed line of mountain ash was disturbed.

The wood was reassuringly solid in his grip and he concentrated on his task, managing to hook the latch after a few clumsy tries and hoisting the hatch open. Moonlight spilled into the barn, illuminating all but the very corners of the building. More empty stalls greeted him, sparse half-rotted hay under his feet and-

Two red eyes burning out from a shadowed corner.

Simon drew in a terrified gasp as the beast growled and moved towards him, not like the powerful gait it displayed in the forest but a limping movement that seemed pained. Behind it, chains around its limbs hooked into the wall and thankfully looked to be holding fast.

It was half beast, half man, of that Simon was certain. Black fur was layered across powerful muscle, razor sharp looking teeth curled in a snarl under a snout that poked out beneath its glare.

Simon saw scraps of material torn up at the beast's clawed feet and recognized them as Daniel's.

"Monster!" He shouted, anger and pain overtaking the fear. Daniel..his Daniel was gone, maimed and..and probably eaten at the hands of this..thing! The beast seemed to recoil and whined but Simon paid it little heed.

He had run out of the barn, tears beginning to cascade down his cheeks when he looked back with hatred one last time. He was about to utter a final curse when he noticed something peculiar.

The beast was wearing Daniel's belt. The band of leather was stretched to its limit but held fast. Simon frowned, managing to control his rampant emotions for a moment to consider with logic. How did the monster end up as such? It didn't make any sense, unless...

"No," Simon whispered at the beast now looking at him curiously. "It is..it is not possible."

As though in a dream, he moved closer, inch by inch, until he stood at arms length. The beast began to growl but he held up a hand, arm trembling as the monster appraised him a moment. He was sure he was about to lose a limb when the beast quit its snarl and a large, pink tongue darted out and licked his palm.

"..Daniel?"

The beast whined, bowing its head as if in shame.

Simon noticed the wreath of plants strung about its neck. "Wolfsbane," he muttered in wonder, reaching out. "I suppose that is what you are, is it not? A wolf?"

A grumbling sound came as his fingers brushed the edges of the wreath.

"Hush," he spoke softly as he broke the stems apart, crumbling the plant at their feet. "You must be Daniel, you sound just like him."

He sat on the dirty floor, adrenaline still pumping through his veins as he nodded slowly, piecing together his thoughts. "Why did you hide this from me?"

The wolf, Daniel, gave a huff of breath.

"Fair," he conceded. "We all have our own secrets, I suppose. May I..?"

Daniel stilled as Simon ran his hand through the thick fur around his neck, letting out a low sound that Simon took for approval.

"Amazing..and this happens to you each full moon?"

A low grunt.

Simon shook his head, smiling weakly. "This would be much more fruitful if you could speak back to me. I suppose we must wait for the sun to rise now."

Daniel whined, nosing at Simon's shoulder almost making the boy topple over in the hay.

"I will not leave you," Simon declared resolutely. "I am your friend, am I not? You can share any secret of yours with me- even this, and I will stay by your side. I swear it."

Boy and wolf sat in silence after that, watching the sky slowly lighten as the stars disappeared.

 

 

"Simon."

Simon opened his eyes groggily, shielding them from the rays of sun that streamed into the barn. He didn't remember falling asleep but the events of the night before began to flood back to him.

"Daniel? You..you are-"

"Yes." The older boy leaned over him, looking into his eyes sadly. "I did not want to share this with you for fear you would not be safe. When the moon is full, I am not always in control of myself."

Simon's heart beat loudly in his chest, and he blushed as he noticed his friend's lack of clothing. "I was going to say that you are not dressed."

"Is that a concern?" Daniel asked, a smirk tugging at his lips at Simon's flailing person. "I know of your feelings for me, if that is your real worry. Be at ease."

"My..my feelings? For you?" Simon blanched. This was worse than discovering his best friend was a shapeshifting creature. "How..how did-"

Daniel shrugged. "I notice more than you think. And," he gave Simon a sniff. "You constantly stink of arousal. It is truly I who have suffered, believe me. You have been in my heart for some time now."

Simon punched the other boy in the shoulder, glaring though his hand began to throb as though he struck a wall. "Why then did you let me pine for so long?!"

Daniel looked down, seemingly melancholy again. "I thought..with my condition, it would have been impossible to live a normal life..with you."

"You have much to make up for then," Simon quipped, a glint in his eyes as he dragged Daniel in, their lips meeting softly for the first time and sending sparks down their spines. "Beast. An absolute beast."

Daniel grinned (wolfishly, Simon decided) down at him. "You have little idea. Fetch me some clothes?"

The barn warmed with the morning light, and the two of them laid there a while longer, both unwilling to move until the

I felt it come  
A blade of Autumn alive  
The amber shapes of sunset dance on the wall  
I step outside  
No sign of you there  
In endlessness, two worlds looking back at me now

sounds of clanging pots and sizzling pans.

Silas was a blur of activity, one hand flipping the contents of three different pans, the other turning meats on the grill. Outside of the kitchen he was a spastic mess of flailing limbs- in here he was graceful, master of multitasking.

"Table four has been fired-"

He can hear Thea opening the oven behind him as soon as she hears the word 'fire'.

"-and table twelve is still waiting on a lobster, how long?"

Lee calls a time from the other side of the line.

"Awesome, guys, keep it up," he spares enough time to nod at one of the servers as they take away a series of orders with a hurried 'thanks'. "One more hour of rush and then it's smooth sailing from there."

Silas had been the sous chef at Little Rock for two years now, steadily moving up from garde manger to hot line and now completely running the kitchen at night. Fresh out of culinary school, it wasn't a bad place to be- even if he found himself taking on more responsibilities than his job description may have called for.

"Hey, Silas?" One the servers, Linda popped up behind the line. "I've got a problem with a plate."

He could feel the rest of his team still for a second, waiting to see what he would do. He knew some chefs would curse and begrudgingly redo it but hearing those words only sparked a challenge in his eyes. Whatever was the matter, he'd send out the most flawless dish that would erase any misgivings.

"What's up?"

"Well, table three asked for a medium-rare lamb- he says this one is medium-well."

"Huh," Silas nodded. "Hey gang? Who cooked table three's lamb?"

The kitchen was only quiet for a second before Lee piped up. "I..I think it was me-" Lee rifled through the pile of spiked chits and found the order. "Ah shit, yeah I must have misread it, I'm so sorry!"

"No worries, mind if I take this one? Not that I don't trust you."

Lee raised his hands in understanding and Silas smiled. He'd be damned if he sent out anything less than perfect the second time around. He would admit he was impressed the customer knew enough to send it back in the first place though- his experience had taught him that a lot of people didn't actually know what they were asking for when it came to meat doneness.

He cut the rack in half, seasoning with salt and pepper before dredging the bottoms in a mixture of herbs. The smell of thyme, rosemary, chervil filled his nose as he seared the meat in a pan, oil crackling and the intoxicating scent of the cooking meat swirled about the stoves. Once seared, he threw it into the oven to finish it off. He would know by a touch precisely how done it would be.

Ten minutes later, he had a browned, glistening rack of lamb being plated in front of him. It came with a chive risotto (a recipe that he secretly despised but alas, it wasn't his decision), a small disk of mint butter and sautéed garden vegetables.

Linda returned just as he put it under the heat lamps. "Thanks!"

"No probs, let me know how it goes, yeah?"

"For sure, Chef."

Silas winced at that. No matter how many times he told the wait staff that he didn't in fact hold that position at Little Rock, they still stubbornly referred to him as such.

Linda returned soon after, all smiles and looking relieved which he took to be a good sign. "He said it was the best lamb he'd ever had and wanted to pass on his appreciation."

"Phew!" He joked, grinning and pleased at the feedback.

 

 

Silas closed the door behind him, running through his nightly checklist even as he locked up. Swept, emptied composts, cleaned all surfaces, locked all the fridges and freezers, turned off all the equipment, shut off the lights. Behind him, a single car in the parking lot waited for him.

He slid into the front seat with a sigh. "Shit that was a busy night."

Mary smiled, leaning in for a peck on the cheek. "Yeah? Tell me all about it."

 

 

"What the hell is this?!"

Silas' eyes widened in alarm as he heard the booming voice from the dining room. He hadn't even had the chance to get his apron on yet and he found himself rushing through the door.

Chef Marcus was there, face beet red and arguing with possibly the handsomest man Silas had ever seen. The man looked like he crawled out of some fashion magazine, green eyes narrowed and chiseled jaw looking like he was grinding his teeth. He held out a plate in front of him, obviously displeased.

Silas swallowed and braced himself before walking up to them. "Hey Chef, everything okay here?"

"No, everything is not okay here," the man (/model, he thought) snarled. "Great meal last night, garbage this afternoon. It's like being in a completely different restaurant."

"How dare you insult my food- my kitchen brings in more people every night than any other restaurant in this city!"

The man's voice was acid. "They come in for rotting salad, do they?"

Silas winced. He could see from where he stood that some of the leaves in the man's caesar salad were indeed slimy and disgusting. He felt an immediate shame that his boss could mess up something so simple and avoidable. The look must have been visible on his face to both of them.

"And who are you?" The man inquired and he felt his heart flutter a little under his scrutiny.

Chef Marcus hissed. "My sous chef who should be getting back in the kitchen before the evening rush starts, yes?"

"Yes, Chef." Silas retreated hastily, noticing the man watching him go almost thoughtfully in the small window.

 

 

Later on, one of the waiters flagged him down.

"Got a customer who wants to see you."

Silas groaned. For whatever reason customers didn't realize he had twenty things on the go and couldn't come out and play host whenever he wanted. "Little busy here at the moment."

"He was..very insistent."

"Ugh, fine," Silas snapped. "Thea take over from me, I'll be back in a minute. That chicken needs to come out in thirty seconds, there's fresh rice ready in the steamer."

He followed through the dining room doors, being led to one of the smaller tables in the corner. His heart began to pound as a familiar face waited for him- the man who had been arguing with Chef Marcus earlier in the day. He could see the guy had money, that much was obvious just from the clothes he wore and the..presence he commanded. The waiter scampered away to another table and Silas couldn't blame him.

"I thought I asked for the Chef."

Silas felt his ears burn at the piercing eyes giving him a once-over, wishing he had a slightly less filthy apron on. He cleared his throat. "I'm the one usually running the kitchen at night. Is there something I can do for you?"

The man smirked before nudging the remnants of a pork tenderloin. "The meat was cooked perfectly. Succulent-"

Silas couldn't help but stare at his lips.

"-juicy-"

He was only half hearing the words, struggling to concentrate.

"-well seasoned. But-"

The word snapped him out of his daze. "But..?"

"This..sauce is possibly the foulest thing I've ever tasted. I do have an extensive palate but I can't even identify what it is. It completely ruins the plate."

Silas sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "For what it's worth, I agree with you completely. It's supposed to be a chasseur sauce- mushrooms cooked-"

"I know what a chasseur sauce is," the man interrupted. "This is not it."

Silas nodded sheepishly. "I know. It's.." He bit his lip, debating on throwing his boss under the bus. "It's Chef Marcus' recipe. He insists on making every batch so I haven't had the chance to..er, improve it."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Do you often clean up after that idiot's mistakes?"

"Hey, it's not like-" He began to protest.

The man waved a hand and he like he was being dismissed but he was rewarded with a dazzling smile. "Don't worry, I understand. Thank you for the meal."

 

 

"I don't why you don't quit, find something better."

Silas wanted to hit his head against the wall. He was sitting outside Little Rock, out back near the dumpsters while he had a smoke before work. The sun was just starting to come up.

"I know it stresses you out being there, and you're so talented, honey. Any restaurant would be happy to have you there- they'd definitely appreciate you more than that asshole does." Mary's voice continued to come out of his phone, telling him things he had thought about a thousand times. Part of him agreed with her completely.

"Believe me, I've definitely considered it," he took one last drag, crushing the cigarette under his foot. "But I like the team I've got here. Marcus is..just a workplace hazard, just part of the job. Look, I've got to get to work. I'll see you tonight."

Mary sighed. "Alright, it's your decision I guess. I just don't want you to be unhappy. I love you."

"Love you too. Bye."

Silas hung up and tied on his apron, getting ready for another day of soul-crushing food. This was the one morning shift he did during the week and he absolutely hated it just for the fact that he had to work alongside Marcus for ten hours straight. He yawned, flicking on lights and opening locks. Usually Marcus arrived before him and had a list of unreasonable things for him to accomplish during his shift but the Chef was nowhere to be seen. He shrugged- at least he'd get a little peace and quiet before the storm.

He grabbed a hotel pan and headed downstairs to the large walk-in fridge that stored all their produce. Lining the shelves were boxes, haphazardly stacked and hardly organized at all. He gritted his teeth and began shopping for the ingredients he'd need- tomatoes, onions, lemons, eggs, bell peppers, the list went on.

"Goddamn it." Silas muttered as his thumb went right into a rotten lemon. According to the label still on the box, they had just gotten this shipment yesterday. Marcus was famous for accepting orders without really checking them out and now they had a crate of rotten lemons that was ready for nothing but the compost bins. On further inspection, most of their eggs were bad too, which made his blood boil. "Marcus!" He hollered up the stairs, stomping up them angrily when he received no reply- the man had to have come in already.

"Marcus! I can't very well make a good breakfast without any goddamn eggs-oh!"

Chef Marcus wasn't in his office but someone else was- the handsome man from nearly a month ago now. He stood up from the chair, clearly just as surprised to see Silas. "What are you doing here?"

Silas laughed uncomfortably. "I could ask the same thing of you- what are you doing in Chef's office? Did you break in here? Should I be calling the cops or what?"

The man grunted. "Call them if you want. I happen to have a set of keys."

That caught Silas off guard. "Oh yeah? And you have the keys to this place why exactly?"

"Getting the keys usually happens after you purchase a business," he spoke dryly, offering Silas his hand. "Dorian Halquin. Your new boss."

Silas took his hand, numb with surprise and transfixed as the roughness of his skin. "You..bought Little Rock?"

"That's what I said."

"So.." Silas struggled to keep hold of the increasingly surreal situation. "You're Head Chef now? Is that what I'm getting here?"

"No," Dorian smirked. "You're getting a promotion."

"What? Are you serious?!"

He nodded. "Deadly. I'll be taking care of finances and the front of the house but back here is all yours now."

"Holy shit- sorry, that's..this is..I don't even know what to say," he babbled, excitement starting to flood through him.

"'Thank you' would be a good start." Dorian looked him over, his smirk ever present.

Silas blushed. "Yeah, thanks. So Marcus is..?"

"He won't be back," Dorian spoke coolly. "Actually, it's good that you're in this morning. We have a lot of work to do. Take a seat- we won't be open for service today."

Silas sat.

"I've decided to eliminate ninety-five perfect of the menu and start from scratch- with your help, of course. We'll need some variations of fresh pasta, some-"

Silas watched him as he spoke, nodding along but studying the lines of his mouth, the hues of green and grey in his eyes. He wondered about the rest of him- what skin and muscle he was hiding under his tailored suits. He thought then of Mary and felt prickles of guilt that he brushed away. He couldn't help the attraction he felt to his new boss- it wasn't like he was going to act on it. Everything was looking up.

 

 

"Congratulations, Chef!"

A hail of cheers greeted him when he entered the kitchen a week later for re-opening night. Thea, Lee, and the others all beamed at him in their brand new uniforms. In the corner, a brand new Combi-therm oven awaited their use- he had played with it all morning, programming different options in.

"Okay, okay, let's get our game faces on," Silas grinned back at them. "We'll celebrate when this doesn't all end in disaster."

"Everything will go perfectly, I'm sure." Dorian's silken voice came behind him, all but purred into his ear and Silas couldn't help but jump a little. "Let's have a great opening night, everyone."

A fresh round of cheers echoed through the kitchen and Silas felt his breath hitch as Dorian gave his shoulder a squeeze before turning on his heel and heading out into the dining room. He shook his head, trying to focus on the last few things needed for the evening ahead.

The past week he had spent every day in the empty dining room with Dorian going over ideas for the new and improved menu, running into the kitchen and whipping up a sample of different sauces and plating options. He enjoyed getting feedback from his new boss, especially when something came out extra good and he was rewarded with low murmurs of pleasure- strictly from tasting his food, of course.

He'd be lying if he didn't think of those sounds during his late night masturbatory excursions. He hadn't seen much of Mary, their schedules not aligning very well but she was excited for his promotion and understood. She was good to him, and it made him feel all the more guilty when his fantasies slid from her sweet, soft curves into hard muscle and laser eyes that looked right into his very core.

 

 

"Where's everyone else?"

Silas jumped, almost banging his head on the oven he was wiping down. He hadn't heard Dorian enter the kitchen.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

He got to his feet, spraying sanitizer on some of the counters. "It's cool. I sent them home, they were all pretty wiped and I don't mind cleaning up, gives me time to think. How'd we do tonight?"

Dorian beamed and it made him feel warm. "Better than I could have hoped for. I think I made an excellent employment decision, Chef."

Silas snickered. "I'm barely out of school- it feels weird having that stitched on my jackets."

"You deserve it though," Dorian spoke seriously now, gesturing around the empty kitchen. "You care about the food you send out there. You love what you do and it shows in every plate."

"Aww stop," Silas joked but felt a pleased blush rise into his cheeks. "I'm just doing my job."

Dorian grunted. "I wouldn't have bought a brand new Combi for someone who was 'just doing their job'."

"That's fair." Silas grinned.

"Are you just about done in here?"

"Yeah, I just have to drain the dishwasher now. Did you need something else?"

"Just a celebratory drink with my new chef."

"Oh," Silas nodded dumbly. "Yeah...sure."

Dorian looked a little put out at his response. "If you want to just go home, I understand. It's been a hectic day."

"No, no, I'd..uh, I'd like that," he stammered feeling foolish and realizing he'd been wiping the same circle of counter since the other man had come in. "I'll be done in a sec."

"I'll be out at the bar."

Silas stood there, debating. He could leave, say he was too tired after all, go home to Mary who would no doubt be eager to hear how his night went, fall asleep to her quiet snoring- or have a drink with his boss and attempt not to eye-fuck him, an endeavor that would surely fail.

"Ah, fuck." He balled up his apron and left it sitting on the counter.

 

 

A small pile of beer bottles quickly began to build up on the bar between the two of them.

"Are you sure it's okay writing off all this beer?" Silas asked, pleasantly buzzed on his stool.

Dorian waved a hand, took a drink across the bar where he stood. "We can afford it- and I have to make sure I keep my new chef happy."

Silas grinned at the teasing (or was it flirting?), raising his bottle. "Cheers to that."

Their eyes met as they drank, Dorian's glittering in the low lighting.

"So," he began, feeling a little braver than usual. "Do you often travel around, buying restaurants and firing chefs left and right?"

"Sometimes," Dorian smirked slyly, looking him dead in the eye. "When I see something I like."

There was no uncertainty- he was definitely being flirted with now. He shifted in his seat, suddenly grateful he was wearing his loose uniform pants. He knew where this was going but played along anyway. It was like it wasn't even him but someone else, like watching a movie and knowing the character was making a terrible decision but it was in the script and no matter how much you yelled at the screen, they did it anyway.

"So what do you like about Little Rock?"

"Oh I like it a lot. It has..a lot of character."

Silas laughed. "That's not an answer."

Dorian laughed with him, deep and full. "Not good enough?"

"No," Silas smiled into his drink, taking a sip and setting it down. "Definitely not."

Both of them stilled for a moment, the air growing thick between them.

"How's this then?" His voice was low, wolfish as he leaned in.

Silas saw him coming almost in slow-motion, it was like watching a meteor slowly incoming. He could have moved, he could have stopped it but indecision froze him and ultimately made up his mind.

Their lips touched together, warm and soft, right out of his secret fantasies. He lost himself in the feeling, kissing back and- who was making that sounds? Was it Dorian? Was it him? He didn't know. Their teeth clicked together clumsily but it did nothing to ruin it. What ruined the feeling was when it simply stopped, Dorian pulling back to smile that smile at him- and he craved something further, something he didn't know he was missing but at the same time he wanted to recoil in disgust at himself, a tsunami of guilt rushing over the warmth. Mary's face swam in his mind.

"Something wrong?" Dorian murmured, a hand seeking his own which he hastily pulled back, hating himself further for the hurt and confusion in the other man's face.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, hopping to his feet and backing away. "I'm..I'm with someone else, I can't..I mean I want to, God do I want to, but I.."

"I understand," Dorian's voice did not match with his words but still they came. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, yeah," Silas ran a hand through his hair. "Of course. Uh..night."

How the hell was he going to keep this job with this constant temptation looming over him? He already felt like the world's biggest asshole but this was going to be pure torture every hour he'd

There's wild in your eyes  
There's a light, there's a feeling  
It's cruel and it's dark in this town  
Are they mad?  
Were we dreaming?

been driving all night through the snow.

Sebastian looked at Dirk. Dirk stared out at the road, the joint between his lips flaring like a little orange beacon in the dark. The air was hazy with smoke, it being too cold to keep the windows open. He passed it to Sebastian, smirking when he took a hit and started coughing.

"Ugh that's harsh," Sebastian's throat burned as he passed it back, Dirk accepting it between his lips without taking his hands off the wheel. "That's super harsh."

"It's not the best I've had." Dirk agreed, puffing away anyway. "Check the map again."

"I don't think we missed the exit," Sebastian answered but pulled the crumpled paper out of the glove compartment anyway. "Are we going to try and find a motel soon or what? You know I need my beauty rest."

Dirk huffed a laugh, snubbing the roach on the dashboard. "Poor little rich boy. Miss your comfy bed?"

"I didn't say that."

"You're cute when you pout."

"I'm not pouting," Sebastian pouted, shoving the map away. "You're just being a dick."

"It's part of my charm."

The worst part was that it wasn't really a joke. Sebastian did fall for Dirk's bad boy reputation and stunning looks. He enjoyed the looks he got when he showed up for school wearing Dirk's leather jacket- his older, experienced, boyfriend's jacket. He loved the scandal Dirk caused whenever he came to pick him up from the school in his car, revving the engine needlessly just to make some noise.

"You sure picked a bad time of the year for us to skip town," Sebastian murmured, watching the snow fly against the windows. "I think it's getting worse- do you think it's getting worse?"

Dirk grunted. "Well someone begged me to screw his underage ass in his father's office. His police sheriff father. Who's fault was that?"

"Yours," Sebastian laughed. "Not my fault you have no self control."

"Smug little shit."

"Asshole."

"Idiot."

"Degenerate cradle robber."

"Daddy's little cockslut."

"Ooh," Sebastian breathed out in a mock gasp. "That was a good one." He leaned over and planted a kiss on Dirk's cheek. "Love you."

"Yeah, whatever," Dirk grumbled. "I'm trying to keep us out of a ditch here."

"You're doing a great job," he quipped. "I'm glad our lives are in your capable hands."

"What are you up to?"

Sebastian's fingers found and deftly popped the button of Dirk's jeans.

"Nothing, love. Keep your eyes on the road."

A duffel bag filled to the brim with stacks of cash slid around the trunk behind them.

 

 

"I'm bored."

Dirk looked over but said nothing.

"So. Bored."

"Go for a walk."

Sebastian huffed. "You're so funny. There's fifteen feet of snow out there."

"So build a snowman or something."

"You're ridiculous."

"And you're annoying."

"That's not a very nice thing to say to your one true love."

"I'm not a very nice person."

"Oh I know that, don't worry." Sebastian stared out the grimy motel window, feeling vaguely claustrophobic even out of the car. "Maybe we should just turn back."

Dirk was silent for a moment, his mouth a hard line. "Why would we do that?"

"I don't know," Sebastian shrugged at Dirk's blurry reflection. "Things might be okay. Maybe it'd be easier than..whatever we're doing."

"No, it wouldn't. I'd get arrested and you'd get locked away in your room- is that what you want?"

"Well no, of course not but-"

"We keep going," Dirk insisted with the quiet power he always exuded. "As far as we need to."

"Okay."

The uncharacteristic quiet in Sebastian's voice spurred Dirk to continue the conversation.

"Hey."

"What?"

"Come here."

He waited patiently until his lover came to sit with him on the edge of the bed, the old mattress sagging under their combined weight. He wrapped an arm around Sebastian's shoulder and pulled him close, nosing into the crook of his neck like an animal scenting its mate.

"Stop it, you're tickling me!" Sebastian laughed. "Animal."

"Are you okay?"

The question sobered them both.

"Yeah," Sebastian answered after a beat, squeezing the hand that had found his own. "I'm with you, aren't I?"

"I don't want to add kidnapping to my list of charges."

Sebastian rolled his eyes but smiled anyway. "That's a terrible joke. I'm here because I want to be, cross my heart. It's just.."

Dirk waited.

"I'm sort of scared about the future at the same time. It's just so..uncertain and we're kind of winging this whole thing. We hardly know where we're sleeping at night, let alone-"

Dirk kissed him roughly then, stopping the flow of his words. They never kissed slow and gentle- with Dirk it was a thunderstorm, volcano, typhoon all in one. It felt like he was trying to kiss him into submission and when they had sex it was no different- it wasn't making love, not ever. It was animalistic lust- it was just plain fucking but somehow, even that had some hidden facet of intimacy. At the heart of it, there was a core of love.

 

 

"Dirk? You awake?" Sebastian whispered, his head resting on Dirk's bare chest. A soft grunt let him know he was listening. Grey light came in through the crack in the curtains. Even with the heat cranked there was still a draft in the room and he pulled the blankets tighter around them. "I was just thinking..we should leave the country."

Dirk's voice was a croak, still full of sleep. "And go where?"

"We can get a couple plane tickets..we could go anywhere, I guess. Europe? What about Paris? I've always wanted to go to Paris." Sebastian imagined Dirk in his leather jacket and shades, sipping coffee in a little French cafe and smiled into his skin.

"We don't speak French." Dirk cracked open his eyes, listening as the sounds of police sirens got closer. Sebastian hadn't heard them yet, so enamored with the fantasy of a Parisian escape.

His lover hummed. "We could learn though, come on, it'd be an experience. A fresh start and all that- what's that?"

Dirk was silent for a second. Both of them knew what it was- it just hurt something deep within to say the words out loud. He did anyway and it felt like something in him rusted and broke. "Sirens."

"Fuck," Sebastian hissed, flailing wildly out of bed and dragging one of the sheets with him, tangled around his legs. "If we're fast enough maybe we can make it around the side of the building-"

Dirk suddenly felt very tired, content to laze in the bed they had warmed throughout the night. "They're going to find the car, Seb."

Sebastian's eyes prickled with the threat of tears. "So what? We don't need the money, there's always more money out there. Get dressed, come on!" He threw Dirk's jeans on the bed, running about the room and throwing their meager possessions into a bag.

Behind him, Dirk could see the red and blue lights in the window, imagined he could hear footsteps coming fast up the stairs right towards their room. "I'll find you again when I get out."

Sebastian came to a dead stop. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I'll find you, no matter what. You just have to wait for me."

"No, no, come on, we have to go-"

"It's done, Seb."

"Fuck you!" Sebastian was weeping now, staggering towards the bed and collapsing into Dirk's waiting arms. "'Course I'll wait for you, you big idiot."

Dirk closed his eyes, the door crashing open and the scenario he'd

Hold me in your arms  
Oh, the sense of you  
When we're alone, I'm free  
Until the morning comes  
Who are we?

been watching, struggling to figure out what it was- he had been following Him for hours now. He can see Him clearly through the restaurant window, even through the rain splashing against the glass panes. He watches, unaware he's been holding his breath, as He looks about the room so restless. Is He waiting for someone?

Before the appearance of dark clouds in the sky, they had been in the park. He counted steps, keeping a respectable distance lest he betray himself. He watched Him laugh and his heart ached behind his ribs like it was being squeezed. His eyes drank in the limited expanse of skin- the back of his neck framed by a red shirt beginning to show spots of perspiration, lean legs undulating smoothly under black shorts, a light jog, easy enough for him to keep up.

It gives him visions of predator and prey, hunter and hunted. A pursuit through dark forests, running ever faster, growing ever closer until he could claim his prize- but no, reality swam back and the towering spruce became city buildings, the sounds of nocturnal creatures becoming the buzzing chatter of people in the background. His momentary disorientation made him lose his path a moment. Moments passed where he had lost Him, began to panic- but there He was, leaning against one of the gates, stretching and oblivious to His own glory.

Now he watched Him swirling wine in a glass, taking a sip and scrunching His face up. He could watch that face forever, its constant animation and shifting expression. A smile for the waitress makes his blood sing- he has been robbed of too many moments, only now becoming painfully sentient. Another small loss of something meant only for him.

"Welcome, table for..?"

He blinked, realizing he had crossed the street and entered the restaurant.

"..One."

He croaks out the word, mouth dry and ashen.

The hostess smiles somewhat awkwardly and gestures for him to follow but he has already brushed past her, taking a seat only a single table away from Him. An old couple finishing up their brunch are the only obstacle between them now. A waitress brings a menu and a glass of water, leaving shortly after an uncomfortable silence on his part.

Through the table between them, he can only see a fractured view of Him- an elbow here, legs sprawled out under the table, a flash of brown hair. He can feel himself squirm in his seat, reaching out for his water with a trembling hand. It's taken him all day to work up the nerve to get this close and now he can't imagine anything less. He wants more.

The couple finally pay and leave, tortuously slow. He sits alone, unaware of the eyes tracing every inch of skin. Is He waiting for someone? Someone that isn't him? As if his thoughts become reality, his blood boils as a girl with ginger hair shows up, pecks Him on the cheek. The thought of another touching Him makes him see red.

He literally sees red when the water glass he's holding explodes in his grip, a few droplets of blood staining the otherwise pristine white tablecloth. The people at the tables around look at him, startled at the sudden cracking noise.

"Sir? Are you alright?" A waitress is talking to him, asking him if he needs help but he shrugs her off. He's watching him now, is that concern on His face? His date just looks perplexed, her mouth in a thin line he desperately wants to tear apart with bare hands-

He shrugs off the wait staff, heads towards the bathrooms dripping red all the way. He is alone in the men's room, staring at himself in the mirror. Even he can admit he looks crazy- green eyes glinting with some manic inner energy, sweat beading his forehead and strands of black hair clinging to his skin. Not to mention the shards of glass sticking into his hand. He grabs them one by one, pulling them out and dropping them into the sink. Red on white. Glass and porcelain.

Leaving the rest room he almost walks into His date. Her eyes flash in annoyance and dimly he knows she does not realize her own frail mortality in this moment. He could reach out now with powerful hands, smearing flecks of his blood into her throat before he snapped her neck. He could almost hear the crunch of bone, watch the life suddenly leave her face in a flash. It wouldn't be personal- she was just another obstacle in his way.

But then she walks on into the ladies room and he is left standing outside, hands clenching at his sides. The moment passes and a sudden bout of nausea pushes him out the front doors, onto the sidewalk where he gulps in the fresh air. As he shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket, he locks eyes with Him through the window and for a moment time stops. Honeyed doe eyes regard him with curiosity and he knows he's in love. What pleasure he feels even from this fleeting glance, how could he ever stand to be in His presence, let alone touch Him? Kiss His lips? Explore every dark avenue in tangled sheets, in dark rooms with tangled bodies?

 

 

He follows Him later on from store to store, watching Him smile at the clerks and cashiers. From behind racks of clothing, shelves of shoes, he is simply happy to be near Him. He wishes for a moment that it could be enough, just like this. That they could go their separate ways and he could happy just knowing He was somewhere in the world- but he couldn't. He couldn't let Him go now he found Him.

He discovers He doesn't live here. He follows, the trail leading him to a posh hotel. Does He have money? A rich family who would offer a handsome rewards when He went missing? It doesn't matter to him. Nothing material would matter once they were together. They would be together, of that he was sure. One way or another. He leaves Him for now in the bar downstairs and pushes on though thoughts of Him flirting with the businessmen passing through, maybe they would buy him a drink, torture him. He would have to trust in what they had, that He would be faithful to him.

Stealing a room key from the housekeeper was easy enough. In a quiet hallway he simply moves behind her, wrapped his arm around her throat and waited for her to lose consciousness. He dragged her into a supply closet and left the cleaning cart in the middle of the hall. By the time someone found her he would be long gone.

The key opens the door with a little green light and a satisfying click, the sound of all his hopes and dreams unlocking. The suite is dark and he doesn't turn on any lights. It's like a tomb, all His possessions strewn about the room and the messiness is somehow endearing. He picks up a discarded shirt at the edge of the bed and brings it to his face, inhaling deeply and he nearly swoons at the scent. It's a thousand times better than he ever could have imagined.

Soon He'll return and the thought makes him giddy, nervous, excited all at once.

He runs his fingers over the sheets, the suitcase, the bedside table. He imagines how His fingers have grasped, touched, felt all these objects. He feels himself growing aroused at the thought of His hands on him, cherishing him in turn. They would spend the rest of their days worshiping each other- it all would start today.

 

 

The door opens and he feels as though an electric current runs through his body. Every nerve is taut and expectant. He hears His noise of confusion when He sees the rose he had stolen earlier from the gift shop waiting on the bed. He watches through the crack in the closet door, watches fingers pluck the flower from its resting place and lips part to make a quiet sound of wonderment.

He wishes he could preserve this moment forever but settles for dragging it out, making it last.

He stands there for hours, watching Him watch the television, read a magazine, make a phone call. He listens to the delicious sound of His voice for the first time and struggles not to release a groan of pleasure.

His torture is increased further when He begins to strip, slowly as though He was aware He was being observed and wanted to put on a show. He moves across the room to the small bathroom and through the door he can hear the shower come on, His voice softly singing some song.

 

 

In the middle of the night, when He's fast asleep, he slides into the bed, gingerly inching the sheets down. He smiles appreciatively at His nudity, running a hand gently down the curve of his backside. He moans softly in His sleep and arches His back, unknowingly wanton.

He leans down, pressing his lips gently into His hair and fingers dancing down His ribs.

"Mmm..." He exhales, sighing sleepily and smiling at the ceiling. His eyes begin to open slowly, groggily and he can tell He's forgotten where He is. Is He imagining His lover? It doesn't matter anymore, not now. It's all in the past. He starts to awaken, and then he sees Him visibly panic, eyes shooting open almost comically wide. "Wha-"

He wraps a hand tightly across His mouth, muffling any scream or outburst. Frightened eyes struggle to make him out in the darkness of the room. He makes some comforting noise, patting His thigh with love. "I've been trying to find you for so long. It's been..lonely."

This is it. This is the moment he had been waiting for his entire life.

"But I've finally found you."

He smiles as He draws in ragged breaths through his nostrils. He nuzzles the side of His head like an animal scenting its mate. He grips Him tightly around the waist, removing his hand from His mouth.

He's disappointed when He tries to call out for help. For someone else.

"No," he states firmly, replacing his hand roughly and making sure to cover all His passages. "I'm here now. You don't have to worry anymore." He waits until His lungs strain and He goes limp like a rag doll. "You don't have to worry." He starts to pack His clothes, folding each article with care as he watched Him lay there, silent and beautiful. In the morning, they would have to make sure things were

Wilder than I've known before  
Fire rushes through every vein  
With a smile that sings  
You'll be killing me, tenderly  
Every word is soft as fur  
I'm drifting deep, deeper in

perfect.

Sam studied himself in the mirror and this is what he saw: artfully tousled brown hair, bright skin, royal blue dress shirt- sleeves rolled up to show off his forearms, top two buttons undone, his best jeans- fitted but not too tight.

Sam had been in the kitchen all morning while Dustin was at work preparing. He had been taking classes in secret at the local community college for the past few months, attempting to develop his culinary skills for just such an occasion. It was even on the cheaper side and now he had a handful of dishes he could make with confidence. This is what he prepared: whole cornish hens roasted with an orange and rosemary glaze, baby ruby potatoes, and a squash risotto seasoned with herbs he had purchased that morning at the farmer's market downtown. Dessert would be store-bought chocolate ice cream because his repertoire hadn't made it quite that far yet.

Dustin worked long hours at a law firm. He was usually gone every day from six in the morning to six at night- sometimes later if there was a particularly complicated case. It was quarter to six and the table was set. Sam had been sure to be well prepared. Earlier in the shower he even had the foresight to finger himself while he washed, growing warm as he played with his entrance- after all, they hadn't actually had sex in a while and he didn't want to waste time with too much preparation.

He sat at the dining room table and poured himself a small glass of wine the nice woman at the liquor store had helped him pick out. He swirled it around the glass, humming to himself as he looked around the room absently. They had a very respectable house- the money Dustin pulled in made sure of that. This is what he saw: everything pristine, everything in place. Nearly every piece of furniture they owned was custom-made and bore Dustin's family crest- a symbol he called a triskelion. He could see the fireplace in the living room from where he sat, could see the photo of them on their wedding day last year. Both of them were smiling and it made his heart ache to remember it.

Sam's hands shook faintly. He downed the glass he had and poured a larger one to steady his nerves. He hoped Dustin wasn't working late- sometimes he texted to say he would be but Sam's phone had been silent all afternoon.

His worry was unfounded- this is what he could hear: Dustin's key in the front door sending a tremor through him, the door opening with the quietest of creaks and closing behind him. The clatter of his shoes being kicked off into the closet. Footsteps approaching that sounded thunderous in the silence of the house.

Dustin entered the room, his eyebrow raised at the set table and Sam sitting, waiting for him. He took it all in, green eyes appraising and not saying a word.

"How was your day?" Sam asked the question timidly as though if he spoke too loud an avalanche might occur in the dining room.

Dustin's eyes met his for a second and wandered to the kitchen doorway. "It was fine. Did you..cook something?"

"Yes," he smiled into the wine glass, feeling bashful but not knowing why. "I did. It should be done about now actually-"

"I'm going to take a shower."

"Oh, yeah of course." Sam watched Dustin leave and took a generous sip of his wine. This is what he did: he moved into the kitchen with his glass firmly attached to his hand, only setting it down as he turned the oven off and withdrew their meal. He wrapped it resolutely with tinfoil- no reason for their supper to get cold while Dustin freshened up. He leaned against the counter, listening to the shower running behind the wall, rolling the wine around on his tongue.

He waited, breathing in and out.

Dustin moved past him, a towel wrapped around his waist, beads of water still lingering on his back. He said nothing, only looked at Sam like he was mildly surprised to see him still standing there.

Sam distantly remembered when they first started dating- if it had been back then, he would've crushed himself to Dustin's muscled torso, seeking the heat of his mouth, the frenzied coupling that would've followed. He almost moved a step after him- the light buzz from the wine was making him brave.

He swallowed, bracing himself.

"Are you ready to eat?" He called out, his words feeling like they should echo throughout the house. Dustin didn't answer at first and he was going to try again a little louder when his voice came from the bedroom.

"I already ate at the office," Dustin's voice was flat. "You can go ahead without me."

Sam counted to thirty until he was sure he wouldn't cry, unwrapping the meal he had made delicately like it was something made of glass. He opened the cupboard, grabbed a plate and it was like watching someone else sitting down and eating. Everything was cooked almost perfectly but he felt no accomplishment- in truth he was barely tasting it.

Dustin walked over to the fridge, opened it and grabbed a beer- without a word, without a glance. Sam was like a ghost that was haunting the house. He was invisible.

From the living room, he could hear the sounds of a football game blaring on the television.

He swallowed one last bite, pouring himself another glass.

 

 

Sam took his time cleaning up. He washed the dishes, put the leftovers in the fridge, polished off the last of the bottle. Dustin had gone to bed. The house was quiet. He was admittedly intoxicated.

He came in quietly, closing the door behind him. With trembling fingers he undid the buttons of his shirt, shrugging it off and letting it fall to the floor. To the sounds of Dustin's steady breaths he undressed until he stood in a puddle of his clothes.

Even after all a year of sleeping in it, the bed still seemed too big- in the dark it seemed to stretch on and on. He slid in between the cool sheets, almost sighing at the pleasant feeling against his skin. Dustin lay on the other side, his back to him as always. He hoped he wasn't actually sleeping.

He moved closer and closer until he was pressed up against the length of Dustin's body, letting him feel the entirety of his nudity. He stroked his arm up and down, a feather of a touch and waited.

"Not tonight, Sam. I'm tired."

Sam nodded into Dustin's back, pressing his lips into the back of his neck. "Sure..I understand." He bit his lip. "Maybe..you could just relax and I could..you know, take care of you..?" He knew he was begging now and some part of him hated himself for it. He hated how needy, how pathetic he sounded.

Dustin's voice came out of the dark like a stone being dropped on his chest. "It's been a long day."

He couldn't find the strength to make a sound for several moments, feeling trapped against Dustin's back, unable to move away without a tidal wave of humiliation bearing down on him.

Eventually he did, laying on his back and staring up at the dark ceiling. This is what he felt: brittle, lost, despair, a total void where previous emotion used to be, betrayed, useless, lonely, emptiness. When he did speak, it was with his heart wrenched open and raw, quivering like the strings of a violin being plucked roughly. This is the conversation they had:

"Do you still love me?"

Dustin sighed and a chord of anger began to run through him. "Why are you doing this, Sam?"

"Do you love me or not?"

"This is ridiculous."

"It's a simple question- either yes or no."

"Of course I do."

"No, I don't think you do."

"Why are you asking if you've already decided on the answer?"

"When was the last time we had sex? Or even ate together? Went out somewhere? Did anything together? Anything at all?"

"Now you're sounding hysterical."

"Fuck you."

"Sam. Sam, where are you going? It's the middle of the night."

"Thanks for pretending you notice when I'm gone."

 

 

It was cold outside and in his anger Sam had forgotten to grab a coat but he was already out of the house and he'd rather suffer than slink back inside, tail between his legs like always. He looked out into the darkened streets, blinking traffic lights and searched the blackness for answers, for any reason at all why things had gone so wrong. For the longest time he had the relationship- the life people were envious of. If only he knew where it was going to end up.

A car was coming down the street, driving a little faster than they should have, perhaps, but it was late and no one was around.

No one but him.

For a second, he toyed with the idea of closing his eyes as the headlights overtook him, stepping out into the path of the speeding vehicle and letting the chips fall where they may. He stopped and waited for it to pass, not trusting his current trajectory and quivering footsteps. The sidewalks were still wet from the rain. It was

Strange how he's cold  
Behind the smile  
An angry mind  
Don't wait for tonight  
Lying for lies  
A golden lie

funny how things change.

A couple years had passed and Derek Hale had worn quite the variety of hats: boogeyman of Beacon Hills, would-be alpha, tortured soul, etc. What he was now..well, that was a little more complicated than usual. The wolf thought he was being subtle- didn't think Stiles had noticed the looks, unnecessary little touches that were his and his alone.

A bullet zinged by where his head had been a split second earlier before Derek had yanked him down behind the pile of concrete blocks they were using at the moment for cover. His shoulder throbbed painfully, Derek using a little more strength than he needed to.

"Not that I'm not grateful I still have a head, but- ow."

Derek growled. "This is why you shouldn't have come."

"And miss all the fun? Not a chance." Stiles nodded towards the hunters pursuing them. "How many do you think?"

The wolf considered, listening to sounds Stiles couldn't hear. "At least four- maybe five."

"I don't like those odds," Stiles muttered, clutching a baseball bat that was of little comfort. Laced with mountain ash, it was handy against other supernatural creatures but sadly it lacked any power against a high-powered rifle. "How long til Scott gets here?"

"Hopefully sooner rather than later." Derek answered dryly, wincing as another chunk of concrete exploded in dust all over him. "They have us pinned down."

"Well," Stiles made his voice artificially light and buoyant. "At least we get to spend some quality time together, right?"

Derek shot him a dark look.

"What?"

"Nothing." Great, the werewolf was sulking now.

 

 

Time was ticking by steadily with so sign of the other wolves. The hunters hadn't pressed in any further, knowing they had nowhere to run. Every now and then Stiles peeked out and was rewarded with a spray of dust from bullets peppering the ground next to him.

He let out a groan of frustration. "Where the hell is Scott? Gonna have to get the whole pack little werewolf watches or something. What do you think?"

Derek didn't reply, only looked morosely into the distance.

Stiles bit his lip, debating on letting Derek carry on but he couldn't resist calling him out- it was just in his nature. "Hey, I know we're in a bad spot but you need to pull it together if we're going to survive this, dude."

Derek cast a baleful eye in his direction, tight lipped as ever.

"Look, I know you've got the cornerstone on grumpy and gloomy and I'd never be able to beat you, don't worry, you don't have to impress anyone-"

"Stiles."

Stiles blinked. "Yeah?"

Derek drew in a breath that looked like it pained him. "Be honest with me."

"Okay," Stiles peered at the wolf warily. "Shoot."

"Was I a bad alpha?"

Stiles whistled awkwardly. "Wow, you don't beat around the bush, do you?"

"Stiles."

"Sorry, sorry. Uh..well no, not technically. You were great at uh..the red eye thing, your roar, uh- terrifying your wolflings." He grinned at the little snort Derek let out. "But.."

"But?"

"Well," Stiles looked away awkwardly. "You weren't the..I don't know, you weren't the best friend- especially when everyone needed it." He didn't say that they tolerated it because they all knew what a rough hand he had been dealt and kept getting over and over- Kate, Scott using him to stop Gerard, Boyd and Erica's deaths, Jennifer's betrayal, the list went on.

At Derek's morose expression he hurried on.

"But that's in the past- don't worry about it. You try harder than any of us these days, I know it, Scott knows it, everyone does. Hey, remember that time I wanted to dump your dying ass on the side of the road? It's funny in hindsight, right? Okay, maybe not."

 

 

"Derek," Stiles hissed. "Are you seriously sleeping right now?"

"No," Derek croaked, sounding unconvincing. "Just resting."

Stiles made a noise in the back of his throat and looked out into the darkness. "Are they still out there?"

"Yes."

He noticed how drained Derek seemed and it gave him a bad feeling in his guts. "Hey, you doing okay?"

Derek turned to look at him and Stiles saw how pale he was, his breathing more of a rattle. A pause. "I'm dying."

"What?!" Stiles immediately scanned every inch of Derek's body, looking for a mortal wound when he noticed how the wolf held his right side tightly. He sighed heavily, nodding towards it. "When did it happen?"

Derek pulled his jacket open enough for Stiles to see the bloody hole and black whorls of the wolfsbane under his skin emanating like the rays of a terrible sun. "Just before we got trapped here."

"That's why they're not moving in," Stiles nodded, feeling sick. "They know you'll die anyway if you stay here long enough- God, Derek, that was..an hour ago."

"Not long now."

"No, screw that," Stiles grabbed his arm and shook him. "Scott and the others are going to be here any minute, those hunters are toast, and we can get you some help. Just..hang in there, okay?"

Derek closed his eyes. "Okay."

Stiles struggled to think of some option- anything they could have missed but came up with nothing. He wanted to scream in frustration.

"Stiles?" Derek sounded like a little boy and it made Stiles want to just burst into tears.

"Yeah, I'm here."

Derek uncurled his hand, offering it shakily.

Stiles stared at it for a second before taking it in his own, giving him a reassuring squeeze. "I'm here."

"I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? For what? Not for dying because that's not happening." Stiles tried to speak firmly but both of them could hear the panic in his voice- hell, Derek could probably smell the reek of it.

"Sorry we never..you know..talked more." Derek sighed.

Stiles nodded, remembering being shoved up against his own bedroom wall, both of them freezing in the close proximity of the other, the moment pregnant with a sudden flaring attraction- being oddly disappointed nothing happened. He remembered Derek shoving him out of the kanima's path, diving into the pool after him without a second thought, kept them both floating and alive for longer than he thought possible. He remembered being paralyzed in the police station, lying on top of Derek and being amazed that despite his fear, he had enough room to consider how he didn't mind being pressed up against the werewolf- not at all. He remembered putting his hand on Derek's shoulder after Boyd had died, seeing those miserable eyes staring up into his own, begging for..something.

"I know what you mean, dude." He sat down next to him and it was only a moment before Derek let his own droop down to lean on Stiles' shoulder. He stared down at their interlaced fingers and felt angry at the universe that they had to go through so much shit to be able to get to this point, and now it was going to be over. He was never going to explore life with Derek Hale-

A howl ripped through the night and Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Is that Scott?" He asked excitedly.

Derek nodded slightly.

"WE'RE OVER HERE!" He called out, giddy and hopeful at the change in their fortune. "Hey, don't think once we get out of this you're off the hook, buddy. We're having a long talk when we get back into town."

Derek's lips curled into a small smirk. "Can we wait until I'm not bleeding out?"

"Oh," Stiles laughed. "Yeah, I guess so. No rush, wolfman, no rush."

Up above them, the stars shone in the darkness and both of them felt a profound sense of rightness in their souls, something clicking into place, something that had been found. Even with the hunters, monsters, all of it- it was worth it being together, even

Words sail out into the wind  
Their meaning taken by time  
Your deep-seeing eyes  
Ancient stars  
We wanted only to love  
How will I find you again-  
Fate or chance?  
You are wonderful light  
My only love  
Sleep well  
Goodnight


End file.
